


These blisters within my skin

by kat_fanfic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort Derek Style, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching with a sort of horrified fascination as Derek burned away the skin on Scott’s arm, Stiles gagged at the smell. </p><p>Missing Scene for "Tattoo"</p>
            </blockquote>





	These blisters within my skin

**Author's Note:**

> More wishful thinking than a serious take on what happened during the time we missed when Scott was unconscious. Derek is Papa Smurf! :D

Watching with a sort of horrified fascination as Derek burned away the skin on Scott’s arm, Stiles gagged at the smell. The problem was that it smelled good almost, like lazy BBQ’s in the sun and the grilled chicken his Mom used to make when he was little.

Fortunately, Scott had passed out as soon as the blowtorch had touched the tender skin on the inside of his arm. Unfortunately, that left Stiles with the unpleasant task of holding it up so that Derek could concentrate on not burning up anything important. 

Like his face, for example, which was in worrying proximity to an open flame of a temperature of over 2.000 degrees. Idly, he wondered if it’d be able to melt flesh right to the bone. 

Things got a little hazy then, and it was only when someone shook him hard that Stiles was able to push back the encroaching darkness. 

“Stay with me, Stiles,” he heard someone say. Derek. Heard _Derek_ say. 

“Uh, sure,” he murmured, noticing with some surprise that he was still upright and clutching Scott’s limp arm to his chest.

“You okay?” Derek murmured, eyes on his handiwork as he—oh god, he was peeling off pieces of Scott’s skin. 

Stiles gagged, managing to grunt out a warning before he dropped the arm like a hot potato, and ugh, wrong thing to think. Heaving, he fell to his knees, upchucking what felt like a weeks worth of meals in what suspiciously felt like projectile vomit. 

There was movement behind him, but Stiles was far too occupied with not choking on his own sick to pay it any mind. A moment later, something cool and wet was pressed against his neck and a steady hand slipped around his forehead to hold him up.

When he was finally, _finally_ done, Stiles sank back to sit on his haunches, eyes tightly closed as he fought for control. Abruptly, the hand on his head disappeared and with it the strange sense of comfort the touch had brought. 

Even knowing that it had been Derek to hold him like that – Derek Hale, the maniac with the blowtorch, who thought breaking people’s arms was an appropriate training method for baby werewolves – didn’t do anything to diminish that.

Still, he’d rather bite through his own tongue than admit to actually liking Derek’s touch. At least out loud. To anyone. What happened when he was alone in his room with time on his hands and a brand-new tube of lube was his own business, though, right? Right. 

“So that wasn’t fun,” he commented, staring disgustedly at the pool of vomit. Wait, when did he have any Skittles?

There was a snort behind him and then Derek waved a half-empty water bottle in front of his face. “Rinse, then sip,” he ordered, Alpha voice in full effect.

“Yessir,” Stiles quipped, doing just that with a sigh of relief. “Scott alright?” he asked when his mouth didn’t taste like road kill anymore.

“Yeah.”

Turning his head a little so that he could glance at Derek from the corner of his eye, Stiles watched surreptitiously as he checked on both unconscious betas, his touch looking almost gentle ish, at least from a distance. 

He hadn’t dwelled on the changes in Derek over the course of the last few months, mainly because they creeped him out so much that he’d begun to check his friends bellies to see if they still had belly buttons. 

That hadn’t gone over well, especially with Lydia.

“We are not pod-people, Stiles,” Scott had assured him, as they sat on his bed and Stiles nursed his stinging cheek. 

“Is it still red?” He’d asked and lifted the ice pack. 

Scott had grimaced. “Uh, yeah, you could say that.”

So while running around the school with a Lydia-shaped handprint on his cheek wasn’t much fun, it did more to reassure Stiles than Scott’s vague attempts at an explanation. “Derek’s different now,” he’d say. “He accepts me as I am, and ever since Boyd and Erica went missing, he’s been trying really hard to be a better Alpha for Isaac.”

And wasn’t that the crux of the matter for Scott, Stiles thought, with some amusement.

He was startled from his musings when Derek loomed over him, offering a hand to help him up. Staring dumbly, Stiles took it slowly, half expecting it to be pulled away at the last second. 

As his hand closed around Derek’s bigger one, the Alpha looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m not going to let you fall, Stiles.”

Stunned, reading so much more in the scarce one-liner, Stiles nodded and let himself be helped to his feet. He was maneuvered to sit on the ratty couch, a banana appearing in his hand as if by magic, and then Derek paced in front of him like a caged tiger.

“Next time, you tell me when you know you’re not able to handle something,” Derek said lowly, sounding more like the grumpy son of a bitch that Stiles had come to l--, well, not love, of course not, but respect and, uh. Like? Was ‘like’ too strong of a word for his ambiguous feelings?

Realizing that he really wasn’t burning on all cylinders, Stiles peeled the banana and bit into it heartily, deciding against uttering any of the multiple jokes that came to mind.

Derek watched him eat impassively. “I need to be able to count on you, Stiles,” he continued when Stiles was mostly done. “Pulling stunts like the one today makes me doubt that I can.”

That stung. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Chop-Off-My-Arm-With-A-Bone-Saw,” Stiles mumbled around the last bite. “We’re not all superhuman fighting machines with stomachs of lead, you know. The least you can do after everything you put me through in the last year is to cut me some slack.”

After a pause, Derek inclined his head. “Acknowledged.” 

Stiles stared. “That’s it?”

Derek’s eyebrow rose. “I stated my point of view of the situation and you replied by telling me yours. We’re at an impasse, so until there are further instances that need to be reviewed, we agree to disagree.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasped, laughing so hard he almost fell off the chair. “You sound like Mr. Spock! Did you buy a self-help book or something? ‘The ultimate guide to communication’ by O.B. Vious perhaps?” 

To his surprise, Derek’s lips twitched in a non-murderous way. “Something like that.”

Deciding to let it slide, mind blown enough for one day, Stiles focused on another little fact that had just occurred to him and that threatened his sanity all over again. “A blowtorch, water and a banana?” He said, counting the items off on his fingers. “What else do you have stashed away in here, huh? Wet wipes? A table saw?”

Derek looked at him as if he was a particularly dumb insect. “I brought the water and the banana with me.”

“Oh, so it’s just a stash of blowtorches? That’s not very practical… wait. You _brought_ them? So do you make it a habit to carry around baby food in your Alpha backpack?”

And it was, it actually was an Alpha Industries backpack that Derek rummaged around in before shoving it back into a dark corner. “Isaac gets hungry after school,” he said, dryly. “So it sort of is baby food, I guess.”

Stiles snorted, getting up slowly. “You know, I can’t figure you out. Whenever I think I’ve got a handle on you – poof! Brand-new Derek to deal with. It’s really distracting. Screws up my chi, so I kindly ask you to stop doing that.”

“And of course I live to serve, Sti-- what are you doing? Stop it!” 

Slapping away Stiles’ hands hard, Derek pulled down his shirt again, looking disgruntled. Shaking out the sting, Stiles grinned at the glimpse of a perfectly concave belly button he’d gotten. Even though…

“Did you know that your navel sits abnormally high on your belly?”

Luckily, he was saved from the glare of death by Scott’s abrupt awakening and his joyful cry of, “It worked!”


End file.
